


starlight, starbright (first star i see tonight)

by ShatterinSeconds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Stardust, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gay Keith (Voltron), M/M, and the whole royalty side plot is gone, but the main plot is there, inspired by stardust, some scenes differ greatly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 02:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13778091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterinSeconds/pseuds/ShatterinSeconds
Summary: “You think I’m gorgeous, admit it.”“You admit that you think I’m gorgeous, and maybe I will,” Lance dares him, placing a hand back on the tree and leaning closer to Keith, so close that their breaths mingle when they speak.“I do.”“Wha--how can you just say that so bluntly?” he fumbles with his words.Keith only leans back, satisfied by the reaction before him. “If you can’t handle your own game, why play at all?”(Or a much needed Stardust AU)





	starlight, starbright (first star i see tonight)

**Author's Note:**

> Second longest oneshot I've ever written, yay!!!
> 
> Brief notes:  
> So I’ve changed some things around  
> 1) there’s no plot with the princes fighting for the crown; I just couldn’t fit it in.  
> 2) there’s no “human” world and a separate magic world. It’s all magic and almost everyone has some level of magical powers.  
> 3) I changed some little elements just bc I wanted too so don't be surprised if you see any; for instance, I made the babylon candle red instead of black.
> 
> Hope you enjoy<3

 

* * *

_"Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?"_

* * *

Everything starts with this: a question.

What would it take to leave this place?

The stars are out tonight, shining brightly across the black expanse of space high above him. Lance sighs, ducking his head as he leans over the rock wall, watching the cliff edge below and the water curling around the exposed rocks, rushing past the obstacles with little effort. Quiet footsteps press on the gravel behind him, but Lance doesn’t turn around to look, having a feeling for who it is.  

“What are you doing back here, Lance?” Matt asks, leaning next to him and placing his staff beside him. Glancing from the corner of his eyes, Lance notices that his shoulder length, light brown hair is in slight disarray, probably because he had just come from performing an exorcism at a client's house--a bit of his gray cloak is torn as well.

Those amber eyes compel Lance to speak. “You mean in Arus? You know I live here.”

“I meant,” Matt begins to explain, adopting a similar slouching position to Lance, “at the wall. This is your mopping spot.”

“You only come around here every couple of months and yet somehow you know me already,” Lance lightly chuckles, shaking his head. As a cool night breeze brushes past the two of them, Lance draws his trench coat tighter around him, hoping to block out the sharp pricks that bombard his skin, turning his cheeks and nose red.

“Did she ignore you again?” Matt continues his inquiry. A bit of sparks crackle on his fingertips as he brushes away the bit of dirt along the flat rocks before sitting on top of them.

Jealousy tickles at Lance’s senses, watching his friend use his magical ability with ease. It’s not his fault almost everyone but Lance has been born with some type of magic--no matter how great or small. He’s always been void in that department, a hole inside him unable to be filled.

Lance laughs. “One day I’m going to stop chasing after Nyma.”

“Yeah, right.”

They stay in silence for a little while longer, an invisible cloud of resentment swirling around Lance’s head as he replays the scene of Nyma laughing in his face over and over again when all he did was ask her out for a picnic date. He sneaks a peek at Matt, whose gaze is lost on the horizon--probably wondering what his sister’s doing on that ship right now--and Lance knows he should be courteous and ask how his day went. But another part of him is sick of all this magic; everywhere he goes it mocks him, everyone he meets despises him. Hell, it’s one of the only reasons why Nyma won’t date him.

Carding back his short hair with a frustrated growl, he asks, “What do you think would really win over a girl’s heart?”

Matt replies automatically, not an ounce of hesitation found in his voice, “A star.” His eyes leave the unknown, bringing his gaze back to Lance.

“Oh come on,” Lance starts, “be realistic.” He frowns at the man in front of him, studying his face for any signs of mockery. _Of all the ridiculous things…._

“I’m serious; a girl would go crazy if you brought back a star. Apparently, they can grant eternal life.” There’s a quirk of his lips at his statement as if truth evades his lips though Lance has read that ancient tale as well.

“Wow, maybe you’re right,” Lance quitely muses, gazing back up to the sky at the millions and millions of bright, white lights splattered across the opaque canvas. He stretches his hand up, a splotch of brown against the darkness, grasping at empty air with a scowl.

“Of course no one can force a star to come down,” Matt elaborates, eye flickering across the sky as if the text is written right in front of him. “Unless they’re connected to it somehow or are a really powerful magician.”

There’s a pause, Matt’s breath catching slightly as the words leave his lips. Lance’s fingers curl into a tight fist before he releases a clipped breath before he turns to him with a blindingly, fake smile. “You’re no help.”

Picking up his staff and jumping down from the ledge, Matt prepares to leave, tapping his fingers on the shaft of his staff. “Amuse me and try it.”  

“Fine.” Lance rolls his eyes, stuffing his hands in his pockets, arching his head back, and hollering, “I wish that a star would come down to Earth to be a present for my future girlfriend!”

“You needed more enthusiasm,” Matt chuckles, already walking away.

“Oh shut up.”

He’s about to leave the area himself, having finished brooding and knowing he’ll have to wake up early to work at _The Magic Shoppe_ , when something streaks across the night sky. It’s practically a ball of fire, a brief white flash that lights up the world around him, his blue eyes reflecting the phenomenon in front of him. He doesn’t see or hear the crash, having fallen far behind the mountain range in the distance, but either way, something churns in his gut, a pull he never quite felt before.     

“Woah,” Matt states--which is quite an understatement in Lance’s opinion. Drawn back by the shooting star, the magician is now beside him again.

“That was just a meteor,” Lance says, turning away from the now dark sky. Coincidences always happen to him. This is nothing special. Just another way for the universe to laugh in his face… well jokes on them, he doesn’t fall for those tricks anymore.

He hasn’t since he was child.

Matt has to race to catch up with him, though he quickly falls into a perfectly paced stride beside Lance. “Yeah,” he speaks eventually, “guess some stories are just stories.”

Arus stands before them as they make their way through a back alleyway. Vendors are stationed near the center, circling the fountain that has water shooting straight up and nothing comes back down, though once in awhile Lance can feel the soft mist falling on his skin. Lights are stringed up around the store fronts and some of the two story residential homes; the multi-colored ones flicker, changing between different shades of blue and red--it takes a moment for Lance to realize someone switches the colors on purpose with a snap of their fingers.

He sees this scene every night--the bustle of the crowd, the exchanging of goods, the occasional black market deal as he watches someone buy a dragon egg for a few gold coins--it never ceases to amaze him.

Lance has lived in this town practically his whole life and yet he always seems to be caught by surprise, despite the fact that he knows everyone and unfortunately everyone knows him.  

Matt easily becomes distracted by a stall selling all sorts of bird feathers--Lance easily spots a bushel of phoenix feathers and it jogs Lance’s memory that he had to pick up a shipment for the shop, oh well.

“See you in another month?” Lance arches an eyebrow. Sometimes the magician’s schedule is constant, always roaming around to different villages before returning to his home base in Arus, but sometimes he’ll visit his sister--an adventure that will often take him away for half a year, and Lance always ends up missing his company.

“Unless you get swept away by love before then,” he winks, twirling a feather in his hand.

“Maybe.” Lance waves goodbye to him as he begins to wander away. The words trapped on his tongue eventually leave his lips when no one is around. “I doubt it.”

* * *

At first, Keith’s skin burns and all he can taste is ash.

He’s a ball of fire, uncontrollable as he crashes into the ground in some far off distant land. Everything hurts at first, a wave of an unnatural amount of pain coursing through his body as he curls into himself. Smoke drifts off his body and dirt sticks to his sweaty cheeks as he claws for some purchase on the ground--just to feel something solid underneath his trembling hands.

Keith lays there for what feels like hours; his shirt and pants cling to his skin as a second layer though it does nothing to protect him from the wisps of coldness that spread through his body whenever a breeze passes by. At one point, he does manage to sit up--once his breathing becomes controlled and the ringing in his ears settles.

Looking around, he scowls at the large crater he has created and only glances up at the night sky as an afterthought. It’s so strange gazing up at them from this side--those white lights seem so meaningless and untouchable, unreachable in a mortal body.

He gazes at his pale hands as he brings them out in front of him and then smoothes down his inky, black hair, attempting to quell the unruly locks. Licking his chapped lips, Keith ends up sighing, flopping back down and staring at the space in the sky where he should be right now.

“What the fuck just happened?”

* * *

It’s about nine in the morning when Lance finally realizes that the sun hadn’t woken him up and thus is now an hour late for work--it takes him another split second to realize that maybe staying up all night wandering around, sometimes scaling rooftops for the fun of it, after he left Matt, was probably not the best decision. This is also his third time being late in the last twelve years, and unfortunately after three strikes….

Well he’ll probably be jobless now.

Groaning, Lance sinks his face further into his pillow, pulling one of his many blankets over his head to block out the aggravating sunlight. Another hour passes before he actually gets out of bed, having briefly fallen into a light state of REM.

 

“You’re late again, Lance. You know the rules, you’re fired,” his boss says the minute the bell chimes as Lance opens the heavy, wooden door.

A few rats squeak in their cages as he passes, bustling around in their bedding, and he ducks below a few herbs, hanging low from the ceiling. Nothing has changed since he started working here--besides the management of course. The unexplainable stain is forever imprinted into the hardwood near the counter, dusty potions, never bought, still take up space on the shelves, and the ladder that leads up to the scrolls and other magical texts one might need still creaks as if it will break under your weight though it never does.

“Oh come on, Rolo,” Lance begins, though he doesn’t know why he’s even trying. He walks to the front of the counter like he’s a customer. “I’ve been working here for _twelve_ years; cut me some slack.”

Rolo glares as he always does, pushing the sleeves of shirt past his elbows as he crosses his arms. He’s pretty muscular for a guy that manages a store--probably has some type of strength magic, but Lance never did ask. Despite these observations, Lance stays put, nails digging into the small grooves on the countertop. “I’ve always hated you,” Rolo says, “Somehow you seem to think you’re better than us, even though you have no magic. I can’t believe you think Nyma would date someone as lame as you.”

They both know that’s a low blow, even lower coming from the guy that currently has Nyma’s favor. There’s an attempt not to growl at Rolo but it doesn’t last long. Lance sneers as he allows every unsavory thought to leave his mind before he speaks. “Alright, at least let me get my stuff from the back?” His tone is clipped, eyes both a sheet of ice and an unbreakable storm.

“Of course.” Rolo nods at his satisfactory answer. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

By the time Rolo walks out of the store, carrying a chalkboard sign, Lance finally realizes he’s having his mid-life crisis at twenty-four. He’s not too bothered when he comes to this conclusion. Slowly, he saunters towards the back--where he in fact has no belongings--casually looking over his shoulder, but Rolo is busy greeting a few early morning customers loitering outside.

The back storage room is nothing grand--it has boxes and crates and everything else that still needs to be catalogued but never will be, and there’s a miniature wood burning stove for the cold winter days. The area is cramped, a fact that is not helped by the large portrait of the old shop master hung on the adjacent wall.

Gripping the edges of the gilded frame, Lance swings the picture sideways to reveal an old, beat up black safe nestled safely in a hole in the wall

“This place owes me something after twelve years,” Lance mutters to himself, ear pressed to the safe, fingers on the dial, as he waits to hear three clicks.

Now he can add thief to his resume if he ever applies for a new job.

One, two, three--the clicks come one after another with a satisfying pop to finish off his heist.

Unfortunately, there’s no money, but a few magical tokens have been locked away inside instead. He finds a thin silver chain--it’s unbreakable; he read about it once--and some candle, colored a deep red as if it had been made from blood. Something tingles inside of Lance as he reaches for the items.

Lance has heard stories of people being able to travel vast distances with candles like this one--if this is what he thinks it is, though the name escapes him.

A familiar bell chimes, startling him enough to jump in place and his heart to start racing uncontrollably. Stuffing the chain in his pocket, he clutches the candle tightly in his hand.

“I want to be anywhere but here,” Lance says out loud, knowing he’ll be caught any second now. His grip tightens around the wax. “A light,” he mumbles as an afterthought, padding his pockets.

He spots a box of matches lying atop one of the crates; striking the match without hesitation, he lights the candle.

A blinding flash consumes Lance’s whole body.

And then he’s gone.

* * *

Keith stands up now; it’s been over ten hours since he’s landed but has made no attempt to leave the immediate area. Wiping the dirt from his legs--the patches have stained his white silks and he has to sigh at the ruined sight--Keith finally stretches, bones popping as he arches upwards.

Then he finds himself on the ground once again.

It’s a tangle of limbs and a mouth full of hair. Keith wheezes, attempting to regain his breath with the weight on top of him. Luckily though, the mysterious person has an ounce of common sense, quickly scrambling off of him with a muffled apology.

The person’s a male human, with lanky limbs and brown skin and darker brown hair--Keith had also caught a quick flash of blue eyes before. He’s clothed in a light blue button down shirt and black slacks and is adorned in a long maroon coat that stops just above the rim of his boots. Keith shivers just looking at him, wondering how warm that coat actually is and if it would be possible to steal it.

Unfortunately, probably not.

Before Keith has the chance to formulate some plan the involves knocking him unconscious, the stranger speaks. “You’re a man.”

“Wow, what an astute observation,” Keith snips, “I was trying to go for the middle aged woman look, guess I didn’t do that too well. Were you expecting to crash into someone else? You’re shit at fast-traveling, by the way.”

The man rolls his eyes at Keith’s sarcasm but responds anyways. “Sorry about that. I just wanted to get away and my mind was on this stupid thing my friend said--Oh!” he pauses, suddenly turning around with wide eyes as if finally noticing where he is. Keith waits. “Have you seen a star around anywhere? I mean, this is a crater so it must have landed here….”

“Are you kidding me?” Keith spreads his arms wide, lips contorting into a scowl. “What do I look like to you?”

“A man my age with a terrible haircut?” he responds, cocking his head while raising an eyebrow.

He restrains from touching his hair, not wanting to give the man any amount of satisfaction. “Very funny, jackass.”

“No, but seriously, this has to be where it fell.” Those extravagant blue eyes study his face, though they do not seem to fully comprehend what they’re seeing. “I wonder how--”

Keith breathes deeply. “Oh really, well if you want to get really specific, some asshole decided to call on a star, knocking it out of the heavens when it was just minding its own business, but to make this day extra special, it then got hit again by a fucking _moron_.”

“ _You’re_ the star,” the man deadpans, “You’re quite rude for someone so pretty.”

 _Now he gets it._ But Keith must have said that out loud because the man suddenly glares and says with as much malice as he can muster,

“I can’t believe I wished for you.”

Eyes widening, his lips part in anger. “You’re the person?!” A startled yelp cuts across Keith’s words as a silver chain snaps around his wrist to bite delicately into his skin. There’s a pull on his wrist as the man wraps his hand around chain on his end; a good amount of space is still between them. “Hey!”

Wincing, the man has a glimmer of an apologetic look in his eyes, though he doesn’t stop. “Sorry, but see this is an unbreakable chain which means you have to come with me.”

“If you think I’m going to go willingly with you, than you’re stupider than I thought.”

“It’s not my fault that I didn’t know stars became humans when they fell,” the man explains, arms dropping to his side, and Keith continues trying to wiggle his hand free of the chain with the newly created slack. “I thought you’d be a ball of light that I could put in my pocket.”

“Oh, so that would’ve been more preferable to you? Sorry to disappoint.” Keith glares at the man, brows furrowed as his lips pull back in a tight snarl. To his satisfaction, the stranger takes a small step backwards but the facade of nonchalance and exasperation is soon back on his face.  
  
The chain tightens, the silver band pressing against his pale skin, but Keith resists the pull. “Look, you're going to be a gift for Nyma, my possible true Iove. I’m sure you don’t understand what love is though.”  
  
At this point, Keith’s ready to gnaw off his own arm but the look in the man’s eyes has him considering a different option. He’s pulled him closer now, enough to see a swirl of what must be total desperation through those blue irises. Pity tickles his insides. “You know nothing about us stars…”

“Lance.”

“You know _nothing_ , Lance, because somehow I doubt a captured, slightly bruised man is a great romantic gift!”

Lance hesitates, a reaction that is as clear as day. It gives Keith some hope, that maybe he can reason with this human, appeal to… something. He has broad shoulders and a tall figure but Keith can guess that he’s a bit stronger with more muscle; he could probably take him in a fight if diplomacy doesn’t work.  

“You’d be crazy to think I’m going anywhere with you,” he tries for the last time.

Fatigue sets into Lance’s posture, his shoulders slumping as he sits on the ground, crossing his legs. “Fine, we’ll sleep here tonight, but by tomorrow morning, you better be in a good mood.”

They sit in dead silence for who knows how long.

* * *

“Will you quit it?” Lance asks the minute he’s awakened by the star pulling on the chain for a third time.

It hadn’t been a pleasant afternoon or night, being awoken every hour or so by the man behind him purposefully, and loudly, sighing before turning to him with what must be his version of puppy dog eyes--though it’s more of a wolf’s stare with those violet irises glimmering with hidden rage--or just tugging at the chain as he tries to get free.

He must admit, the star is something else. A ball of light would have been extraordinary to find but to actually have it in human form is breathtaking. Dark hair curls over his neck and cheeks and just brushes the top of his shoulders, which flawlessly works with the beautiful aesthetic of pale skin and violet eyes.

If Lance isn’t so in love with Nyma, he may have asked him out on the spot--a star or not. But then the man had opened his mouth and that beautiful daydream had been shattered.  

“How’d you get here anyways?” the star asks, eyes flickering over his figure. Wordlessly, Lance pulls the candle from his pocket; it’s much smaller now, almost the size of his thumb. The man’s gaze immediately widens at the sight though, sitting up straighter now. “You’ve got a Babylon candle; those are impossible to find!”

“Uh what?” _Oh_ , _that’s what it’s called._

“Do you actually know nothing?” he laughs, more in amusement than with any intended malice. A smirk breaks across his lips; they’re chapped, a detail that surprises Lance in two ways--one, that he actually cares enough to notice, and two, that he’d been staring at the man’s lips. “I was only half joking before, but now it seems like my statement might actually be true.”

“You, shut up.” Lance quickly presses a finger to his lips, quite pleased by the star’s muffled outrage. He bats away his hand with an even more intense glare, and Lance gulps--what was that old tale about stars being able to burn people from the inside out?

Lance holds out a hand to the man instead, who surprisingly takes the friendly gesture, their fingers locking into one another as Lance pulls him up from the ground. The star’s hand is freezing, goose flesh rising across his skin as he stands there in those white silks. Without a second thought, Lance shrugs off his coat to wordlessly hold it out in front of the star.

The man is understandably caution, raising one thick black eyebrow that disappears beneath his bangs as he gratefully takes the coat. Predictably, it’s too big; it doesn’t fit him on the shoulders and the sleeves end a good few inches past his fingers, but then the star looks back up at him and actually smiles, curling the fabric tighter around his body.

Maroon’s a good color on him.

“Okay, I know I was a little rude to you yesterday--”

“A little?” the star interrupts with a cheeky smirk.

“Alright,” Lance begins again, this time with a faint smile on his lips. It’s almost indistinguishable from his frown, but it’s there. “I know I was _very_ rude to you yesterday--but so were you!--anyways, will you please come with me to see Nyma, and then you can be free to do whatever you want to do?”

The star holds up his wrist, shaking it lightly in Lance’s face. “Will you take this chain off?”

“You’ll run away the minute you have the chance,” Lance scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Because really, there’s no way he’s going to trust a man he just met--not even if they’re straight from the heavens themselves.

“Smart man.”

Lance only glares at him, biting back a few choice words that accumulate on the tip of his tongue. He has to be civil though, if he wants this to all work out in the end. So if he has to saddle himself to a rude, beautiful man who also happens to be the physical embodiment of a star, then so be it.

“Fine, but on one condition.” Lance gestures for him to continue, a little worried about what that may entail. “Can I use the rest of the candle to get back home once we see this Nyma person?”

There’s a bit of a pause after the star’s words flutter into the air. The sun is high in the sky, though it’s barely mid morning, and its rays beat down on Lance’s exposed skin, kissing his cheeks with light caresses.

“Uh, how?” Lance asks at last, feeling a bit awkward as he shuffles on his feet, staring at the man for some sort of explanation.

“Humans are so boring,” the star whines, purposefully tugging at the chain to cause Lance to almost trip over his feet. He growls and corrects his stance but does little after. “You know nothing of the magical world you live in.”

“I do too! I worked in a magical shop since I was twelve!” He feels the need to defend himself, his voice rising high over the walls of the crater.

Unfortunately, the star seems less inclined to believe Lance, rolling his eyes. “Any basic witch knows that a Babylon candle transports you _anywhere_ you’re thinking of.”

But he’s not even a basic witch so of course he wouldn’t know that detail. Lance pretends it doesn’t bother him; it does. “Huh, guess you learn something new everyday.”

“You’re hopeless,” he says, wrapping the chain around his wrist and tugging Lance ever closer with a devilish smirk. “I’m a star and _I_ know more about your human magic.”

“You just think you’re so smart, don’t you?” Lance can clearly see his eyes now. Despite his first observation, the star’s eyes are not completely violet but are actually a mixture of purple and gray hues. These types of imperfections become clearer now--for instance, the star’s hair is actually one wild choppy mess that somehow works into a semblance of a style, and a few light freckles are splattered across the bridge of his nose that Lance has to admit are adorable.  

The man blinks up at him--they only have an inch or two difference in height but Lance is still pleased to find that he’s taller--void of any emotion. “So, now that you know, do you promise?”

“I promise,” Lance answers with a small, genuine smile, “and one thing to know about humans--well the good ones at least--is that we never break our promises.”

“Perfect.” The star claps his hands and allows the excess slack from the chain fall between them as he steps back. “Then I’ll go with you to your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Lance immediately corrects, a slight blush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

“Ah, yes--” he taps his chin mock thought “--that’s the whole reason we’re in this mess, because you can’t get a girlfriend without me.”

Lance’s brain stutters to find a proper response. “You know, I liked it better when I knew stars didn’t talk so much or were so insulting.”

“And I liked humans better when I wasn’t interacting with them.”

 

After a few hours of wandering--and after they almost fall down together in another tangle of limbs because Lance almost trips over a root--the star unfortunately stops in his tracks, jerking Lance back to him. He stumbles a bit, his hand reaching out for a tree to break his fall; the rough bark cuts into his fingers.  

The star stares at him with those inquisitive eyes, roaming over Lance’s face until he figures out what to say. “You don’t know the way home, do you?” He raises an eyebrow as if daring Lance to correct him.

“I do,” he responds with fake confidence, squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine.

“Uh huh. I’ll believe that when you stop questioning every time we come to a crossroads.”

Lance bites his lower lip, the truth gnawing at his insides, because contrary to popular belief, he has no fucking idea where home is. He never thought that he’d get this far in the first place, and it wasn't like he had a map on his person when he vanished. Staring at him with a disappointed expression, the star slowly shakes his head, tisking. “Fine, it’s more like an intuition. Now will you stop questioning me--”

“Keith, my name is Keith,” he finally supplies, and this is something Lance is grateful to have.

Lance pauses suddenly, slowly turning to Keith as his name eventually sinks into his mind. “That is _such_ a let down.”

“What?” Surprised, Keith’s mouth hangs open, flabbergasted.

Lance throws his hands in the air, as if it couldn’t get anymore obvious. “You’re a star and your name is Keith. How much more common can you get?”

This guy is the worst.

He’s an all powerful star and he names himself _Keith_.

Lance glances up at the clear sky, mouthing off to the heavens and wondering what he did in his past life to end up in this situation. A breeze is their answer as it rips through his clothes and hair, the bitter coldness slicing at his skin. Birds squawk as they fly passed, their black bodies outlined by the sunlight that burns his eyes.

“If you must know,” Keith speaks eventually, choosing his words carefully, “stars don’t have names the way humans define them. I picked up ‘Keith’ from listening to a human conversation a few centuries ago.”

“But ‘Keith’?” Lance has to ask, “That’s the lamest name _ever_.”

“I like it!” is all he has for a comeback, lip jutting out in a firm pout.

Stalking closer, Lance points a finger at him, lips parting as he speaks. “I can not believe that I just got saddled with the rudest and lamest star in the whole freaking galaxy.”

“And I can’t believe--” Keith’s eyes blaze in a roaring fire “--that I got stuck with the stupidest, most arrogant human being on this whole crappy ass planet.”

Lance smirks. “Glad that’s settled then.” By passing his brain-to-mouth filter, he then says, “You’d be even prettier if you had a better personality.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty. I’m so faltered, Lance. Thank you.” Comically bowing, Keith looks up at him with a hooded glance, blinking his long eyelashes, and thin shadows dance across his cheeks and under his eyes.

“I--uh, that’s not what I meant.”

“You think I’m _gorgeous_ , admit it.”

“You admit that you think _I’m_ gorgeous, and maybe I will,” Lance dares him, placing a hand back on the tree and leaning closer to Keith, so close that their breaths mingle when they speak.

“I do.”

“Wha--how can you just say that so bluntly?” he fumbles with his words.

Keith only leans back, satisfied by the reaction before him. “If you can’t handle your own game, why play at all?”

“Why you li--”

A stomach growling interrupts their banter, and Lance sheepishly looks down at the stomach that has betrayed him. Keith just waits, watching him with curiosity. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Lance begins, the plan just now formularting in his mind. “I’m going to go get some food and leave you here for a few minutes.”

“La--” but before he can finish speaking, the silver chain wraps around the large trunk, attaching him to the tree. An aggravated noise rumbles from Keith’s throat as he tugs at the chain though it doesn’t budge and his hand flops uselessly by his side.

“Don’t run away on me now,” Lance chuckles, stepping back.

“I make no promises,” Keith hollers back and Lance just turns away with a smile playing at his lips.  

* * *

An hour or two passes--but really it’s probably only been ten minutes--by the time Keith becomes too cramped to stand chained to the tree any longer. The sky had darkened since Lance’s departure; accumulating gray clouds threaten to rain on everything below them. Even the forest animals have long since scampered away, leaving Keith to feel like a bigger idiot than he had before.

Then he does something he should have done when the chain first wrapped around his wrist. Grabbing onto the little slack there is, Keith concentrates, his eyes fluttering closed as he breathes through his mouth, air whistling past his teeth. His fingers curl around the lightweight object and he imagines that his hand is on fire. It burns bright, hot, and fast, smoke rising into the air as the seconds past. The melted halves of the chain fall away and Keith slips the remnants off his wrist.

Fatigue unfortunately sets in quickly, body trembling as he takes a step forward, but he still manages to muster some energy to casually smile, saying to no one, “Unbreakable chain, my ass.”

Laughter quickly dies on his tongue though, as he soon comes to realize that he a) has no clue where he is and b) even if he found an ounce of civilization, he has no money to get him anywhere. Resting on one thought, Keith decides that not matter what, he’s going to walk in the opposite direction that Lance did and proceeds to do just that.  

At one point, the heavens open and sheets of rain bombard Keith’s skin. His hair becomes matted to his face, locks sticking to his cheeks and plastering to his neck. Dropplets run from his bangs, down the bridge of his nose to drip off his face.

Shivering, he wraps his arms around his body, only now wishing that he hadn’t given back Lance’s jacket once it had warmed up. He trudges onward; the sandals on his feet stick to the muddy ground every so often.

It’s disgusting.

All of this is just awful.

And it’s all Lance’s fault.  

This is also about the point where Keith begins to talk to himself, the thoughts too loud in his head and the world too quiet around him.

“I know he promised,” Keith begins, speaking to his kin above though he knows they’re all sleeping-- _he_ should be asleep right now, “but if I had to hear about this Nyma one more time, I was going to strangle him.” He pauses to collect his thoughts, also half expecting someone to agree with him though no one is around. “I mean, why is a guy like him trying to tie himself to a girl who obviously could care less about him?”

Keith nods, agreeing with his own observations. The forest soon clears up ahead, exposing a wide open field with only one dirt road to follow. With no other alternative, he quickens his pace, only to realize that the leaves had been blocking most of the rain. Coldness seaps all the way down to his bones now, his clothes heavy with water as they hang off his exhausted frame.

“Okay, yes,” he continues with labored breaths as he closes his eyes, though it does little to expel the rain. “I still stand by the fact that he’s very attractive for a human--okay maybe he’s even more attractive than some stars I know, no offense.” Keith sighs, “But that’s besides the point!”

As if someone up above wishes him bad karma, while he continues to walk his foot sinks deep into a muddy puddle, the water coming to rest well above his ankle. Cringing, he lifts his leg to find that the ground had eaten his sandal whole; he never knew mud to be a greedy thing.

“Thanks, guys, I appreciate the support,” he mutters to the hidden stars as he begins to walk unevenly down the beaten trading road. Deep grooves have been cut into the ground by the constant traffic of carriages. He almost twists his ankle in one of them and begins to curse Lance’s entire state of being again.

Speaking of Lance, he leaves for a few minutes and things turn to hell. Keith frowns at that, trudging along faster as if to beat the rain slamming into him. It has to be an hour since he broke the chain, and yet, he kind of wishes he never did. “I guess I’ve been out of contact with anyone for too long; I’m starting to miss his company,” he admits to himself before sighing, ducking his head as his long bangs cover his vision. “I really need to get home before anything else blows up in my face.”

Right as he finishes, lighting streaks across the sky, illuminating the path in front of him. Through Keith’s watery vision, and as his body shakes when the crack of thunder follows immediately after, he spots a hazy image of what looks to be some sort of an inn still many meters away.

His feet already begin to move, dragging the rest of his fatigued body along. “Looks like a good place to stay.”

Some ancient memory at the base of his mind tells him not to venture any farther; he doesn’t listen.

* * *

“That little shit!” Lance whisper yells as he childishly stamps his foot, holding onto the two halves of the chain. Rain dances along his skin, and he stares at the empty space before him with disappointed eyes. Well, now he’ll never trust old texts again. Unbreakable chain, his ass.

Though, Lance doubts that the author of those books had encountered at star before when writing that fact down.  

Kicking the loose dirt, splattering mud along the hem of his pants, he releases a muffled scream because apparently nothing in his life can go right. He cards a hand through his soaked locks, arching his head back to allow the rain to pepper his face with its soft touch. Something inside of Lance compels him to open his eyes, and suddenly he finds himself in the midst of millions of stars.

Voices fly all around him, vibrating through his body and sweeping through his hair.

“Please protect our friend,” they say in soft whispers and loud screams at the same time. It’s a painful melody. “He is in grave danger. He escaped from you but is now walking into a trap.”

“This is why I chained him to a tree,” Lance mutters, clutching his ears as the buzzing resonates louder and louder, more voices attempting to plea with him. He falls to his knees.

The stars continue on with their explanation, a faster rhythm set into their words. “No star is safe in your world. The last one fell to Earth over ten thousand years ago and was captured by the same witch Haggar who seeks him now.”

Anxiety rips at Lance’s gut, eyes flickering all around the darkness as if believing that if he looks hard enough, he can find Keith sculking through the trees. But he knows his star is long gone, getting himself caught in a trap no less.  

“Haggar tricked the first star,” they elaborate quietly this time, “cared for her to make her glow before she cut the beating heart from the star’s chest. Please save him for we are powerless.” Their breaths dissipate into one gentle breeze that nudges Lance off the ground.

The sound of pounding hooves and the creaking wheels of a coach immediately follow. Seeing how it’s his only chance, he runs fast, leaping from the ground to clutch onto the walls of the carriage without making a sound.  

He rests his head on the back of the carriage, chest heaving from exertion and knuckles whitening as he grips the sides. Every hole the coach runs over, those vibrations travel through his nerves and even to his teeth that he has to keep clamped shut to prevent himself from biting his tongue.

Lance better get a ‘thank you’ for this.

* * *

Keith practically runs into the inn door. It’s large and wooden with an iron knocker the shape of some mythical beast. He fumbles for it at first, his cold fingers wrapping around the knocker as he shivers in the rain. Behind him, the inn’s sign creaks in time with the wind, but it’s too dark to see the name of this establishment.

Knocking twice, the sound echoing in the night, Keith hears the startled noise of someone inside, and it only takes a few more seconds before the door is flung open. He braces himself on the door frame, preventing himself from falling flat on his face. Lifting his head, he meets the face of a woman who can be considered attractive for her age, which is probably early thirties.

The innkeeper has light purplish hair, brown skin, and golden eyes that stare at him with a mixture of shock and yet a hint of untamed glee. A black cat scampers around her feet before disappearing in chase of something, probably a field mouse.    

“My name is Honerva,” she says; her voice is light, pleasant almost as she stares at him with a warm expression. Keith immediately brightens at the hospitality, pleased that something is finally going right. “How may I assist you?”

“Do you have any vacancies? Only it’s raining and I have no place to go,” he huffs, raking back a clump of his bangs, grinning slightly as if not looking like a complete wreck.

A sincere smile winds onto Honerva’s face as she gestures for him to walk inside. “Of course, we have food on the table and hot water for a bath, if you are so inclined.”

He rubs his arms as the warmth form the near by fire heats his skin and bones, turning to her in gratitude. “That sounds wonderful, ma’am.”

“Perfect.”

The inn is comfortable, small and mostly empty besides a few workers who are busy, cleaning and cooking. They don’t pay him any attention as he passes up the stairs. One of them sweeps the floor with vacant eyes, their wrists twisting in a back and forth motion to clean the same spot for a complete minute. Keith only finds it a little odd, shaking his head to clear the image.

He strips off his sullied clothes the minute he spies a tub full of hot water, steam rising from the surface and fogging up the full length mirror tucked in the corner. Slipping into the water, he sighs, allowing himself to sink deeper as he lets the liquid tickle the bottom of his nose.  

“You seem happier,” Honerva states, handing over a bar of soap that he gratefully takes.

“I do?” The grime slowly washes away from his body and he leans his head back against the rim of the tub, soaking all of his problems away for a moment.

“Yes.”

A faint glow emanates for his head, reflecting off the water. The fatigue he had been feeling before has disappeared, the worry that had been plaguing his mind simply gone. It feels nice. There are few things humans did right and creating baths are one of them. He barely registers that Honerva is still in the room with him.

Then his mind unfortunately thinks back to Lance and his stupid expression whenever he knows he won the argument and those beautiful, deep blue eyes, and everything becomes muddled in his mind as he scowls.

The water in the bath seems to have cooled off now, losing its special quality. Suddenly, he’s not as relaxed as he had been. A shadow looms over Keith as he hastily cracks his eyes open.

“Everything alright?” Honerva asks, as if sensing his change in emotions immediately. “Does it need to be warmer?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he responds cautiously. Keith can still sense her watching him from the corner of his eyes; it’s only a little creepy and a small shiver races down his spine.

He’s about to step out, an excuse already formulating in his mind of why he has to run out into the rain again even though he just got here, when a harsh knock on the front door startles both of them. “Who’s that?” Shooting up from the water, the last remnants from his glow fades completely, eyes flickering to the washroom door. Honerva, who had been standing behind him, frowns in the mirror.

Distracted, she mumbles, “I wonder who that could be.” Something clinks on the table behind his head, and the innkeeper leaves to get the door.

Now he leaves the bath, wrapping a robe tight around his wet frame as he pulls at the tie, and proceeds to venture down the stairs. His eyes do not catch the knife that rests on the table next to him.

* * *

A woman opens the door, her eyes blazing with so much fury that Lance has to take a cautious step back, tugging on the collar of his coat. “I, uh, sorry to disturb you, but I’m looking for a place to stay?”

He tries to angle his head to see around her frame, but it’s of little use. The foyer is empty except for a few workers, no sign of Keith anywhere. Maybe he hadn’t come to this inn afterall, but it is the only one for miles.

Blinking, the woman plasters on a friendlier expression. “We seem to be very popular tonight, must be the rain.”

Lance steps inside as she leaves the door open. A warm fire instantly greets him, the inn already more cozy than any place he’s been in the last two days. He tries not to scowl, because really, it’s all Keith’s fault for getting them into this mess. Though, Lance guesses one could say that it was originally his fault for wishing on a star in the first place.

The innkeeper pulls him from his thoughts. “Would you like a drink, kind sir?” A glass of water is held in front of him, practically appearing from thin air though Lance wouldn’t be surprised if it actually had.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

About the take a greedy sip, one of the servants accidentally bump his arm, a drop of the drink splattering onto the table, boring two perfect holes through the thick wood. A faint stream of smoke rises from the burn sight before disappearing.

“Huh.” _That’s not normal._

“Lance, is that you? How’d you find me?” someone calls to him from the stairs.

Glancing up, Lance finds Keith at the top, clothed in a gray bathrobe and hair in slight disarray as it has begun to dry in a frizzy mess--that sight is not adorable or anything. “Keith, why ar--Keith! I came to rescue you!” he exclaims, only now remembering why he’d came here.

A familiar scowl answers him and Keith walks further down the stairs, completely irritated. “I’m not your damsel in distress; I’m doing perfectly fine navigating your crudy world on my own.”

They’re face to face now; Lance had forgotten how brilliantly colored Keith’s eyes were. It’s only a little distracting. Their breathing mingles as Keith crosses his arms, cocking an eyebrow, impatient for an explanation.  

“She’s a witch, Keith,” Lance answers with no build up.

“The innkeeper?” Keith questions, “That’s not a nice thing to say about a person who you don’t know.”

Lance hastily elaborates further, eyes flickering around the room in fear as he rakes a shaky hand through his hair. “No, I mean she’s a _literal_ witch. Like, she’s going to eat your heart to stay young forever; she’s done it once before.”

“Oh,” Keith says a little quieter this time, mulling over the information but accepts it quickly with a nod of his head.

Heart rate quickening as adrenaline already races into his system, Lance wraps a hand around his wrist, feet moving both them across the room, when energy crackles around them. The hair on his forearms stands up.  

The innkeeper stands behind them, her face twisting into something disgusting. “Looks like I’ll have to deal with both of you to get my prize.” Her disguise falls away as fire shoots from her hands; suddenly she has long white hair framing her face and yellow eyes that can’t be natural. This woman sold her soul to something that Lance hopes he will never ever meet.

Purplish black flames consume the inn, racing closer and closer to Lance and Keith, managing to back them into a corner, nowhere near a window and on the opposite side from where the door is. Heat licks at his skin, and he pulls Keith closer to him, just as a flame jumps out and starts attacking the space where he had just stood. Lance can feel Keith’s breah in his ear as he wraps one arm around his waist.

“You’re not leaving until I have his heart,” the witch Haggar growls, voice as rough as gravel now.

“Keith, hold on to me tight and think of home,” he whispers, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the remnants of the Babylon candle.

Thrusting it into the purple flames, he bites back a scream as the fire burns his skin, eating away at his flesh. But the wick catches light and they’re gone.

“What did you do?” Lance immediately yells as he stumbles into Keith, wind and rain whipping at their hair as they balance, somehow, on a cloud, high above the ground. It’s hard to breathe.  

“You told me to think of home!” he hollers back, burying his face into Lance’s neck as ice pellets begin to bombard their bodies.  

“Yeah, my home not yours!”

Keith grumbles in response, the vibrations sinking into his skin, and Lance shields his face in a similar way. Black locks tickle his nose as he breathes in.  

“Well now we’re on a cloud in the middle of a storm; I hope you’re happy,” he mumbles into Keith’s hair, holding on tighter to the man as the cloud begins to sway. They’ve ended up in the middle of both intended destinations; it’s not the safest place to be stuck on.

Eventually Keith finds the words to speak, “I’m beyond ecstatic.”

Lance just has to laugh at that.

A split second afterwards, they’re captured by pirates. It’s quite unexpected how it happens of course. First they were trying not to die, using each other’s body as protection from the weather slicing as at their skin, and second, a net ensnares both of them, dragging them on board a large deck belonging to some sort of airship.

Rain water drips in Lance’s eyes as he tries to blink away his blurry vision. Five fuzzy figures stand before them, big black blobs that soon meld into one another as Lance slips into unconsciousness, the feeling of drowsiness unexpectedly taking control.  

He wakes to find himself sitting back to back with Keith, both of their hands chained at the wrist together, and Lance inwardly laughs at the irony. The walls are completely white, with only a thin window high above them. Lance can feel the engines humming through his feet as he begins to study his surroundings.  

“If we die, I’m blaming you,” Keith immediately says as he wakes, words tinted with the remnants of their forced sleep. These pirates definitely have some power to them.

“Oh thanks for that,” Lance snarks back, wondering what expression the star has on his face right now. He’d bet his entire life savings that it’s a scowl complete with a furrowed brow and crackling violet eyes.

A pause separates them; thick tension swirling around the brig. Lance leans his head back only to find that Keith is doing the same. Bumping into each other, he winces but neither of them make a move to pull back, continuing to support the other. To his disappointment, Lance finds that the ceiling is just as boring as the rest of the room.

“You know,” Keith quietly begins, unsure if he actually wants to start a conversation or not, “I used to dream about going off on an adventure.”

Lance’s eyes widen at the sudden burst of trust Keith has for him. He never knew what stars did or thought about, and in all honestly, Lance feels pity for him; it sounds like a lonely life. “Me too,” he eventually admits.

“They’re so overrated.”

Smirking, Lance turns his head slightly to catch Keith’s eyes. “Oh definitely.”

Silence fills the room again. This time it causes Lance to squirm, the quiet a deafening loudness in his ears that he can no longer handle. He’s about to speak up, with something and nothing on the tip of his tongue, when Keith interrupts first.

“You saved my life,” he rasps, the ‘thank you’ hanging in the air.

Keith grips Lance’s unburnt hand, his thumb rubbing across his knuckles as their fingers begin to interlock. It’s a gesture that holds more meaning than simply gratitude. Lance holds on tight.

He shakes his head at first. “I saved both of our lives.”

Somehow Keith has managed to turn around just enough to be able to stare in his eyes; he sends Lance a small smile. “Yeah, but you came to rescue me. _Thank you_.”

“Anytime,” Lance replies sincerely.

The atmosphere in the room changes immediately, as if all the tension had been forced to walk the plank. Lance’s shoulders drop in relief, and Keith’s body leans against him more, finding comfort in the touch. It must give Keith the confidence to say this,  

“Why do you like Nyma?”

Startled by the question, it takes a while for Lance to respond, his mind working through all the possibilities until he officially comes up blank. _What was special about her again?_ “I honestly don’t know.”

“That’s not a good answer.” Keith’s glare has returned, wrinkles crease his forehead, yet it’s not necessarily directed at Lance but at an invisible force, an emotion even, somewhere in this room.

“I guess not,” Lance says, head hanging low.

“Then why are we still doing this?” It’s a genuine question, and Keith arches an eyebrow, waiting for a response. Lance frowns at this, trying to find a way to answer him.  

Eventually he settles on, “Well it won’t matter anymore. It seems like we’ll be murdered by pirates first.”

As if waiting for that command, the door is flung open and five people walk in. They’re quite a cast, the youngest of them probably being eighteen or twenty with her choppy light brown hair and amber eyes which look distinctly familiar. Then a larger man walks behind her, grease stains on the dark skin of his forearms and face as he leans against the wall in a casual manor. A man with an orange mustache follows, boots clapping on the floor in the silence.

The last two that enter must be the leaders, the aura around them shimmering with authority. One of them is a gorgeous woman with long white hair pinned slightly back, dark skin, and menacing blue eyes that cut through Lance the moment she sets eyes on him. The man doesn’t stand with his group but continues over to the two of them, squatting to reach their height. A scar runs across the bridge of his nose, and he has an odd white tuft of hair that somehow only adds to the intimidation effect.

He crosses his arms to reveal a prosthetic. Lance doesn’t stare for too long. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“I’m Lance,” he begins, and then leads into the lie, “and this is my husband--”

“Ha, husband?” the shortest girl laughs, snorting slightly. “You don’t seem like the type to have caught the eye of someone like him. No offense.”

“Offense taken!” Lance glares at the girl as Keith, the traitor that he is, chuckles. “I’ll have you know that I am perfectly capable of landing him--” his eyes widen suddenly, finally understanding who he’s seeing “--You’re Katie Holt! Matt’s sister.”

Surprised, she cautiously nods. “I go by Pidge now, but yes, that’s me.”

The man before them arches an eyebrow. “You know her?”

Turning back, Lance says, “Well I’m friends with Matt so I know _of_ her.”

“Oh!” Pidge suddenly exclaims, “You’re that guy from Arus. My brother talks about you all the time. Work at one of the local magic shops, right?”

“Well I used to,” Lance nods, “I got fired.” He finishes with a cracked smile.

“They’re alright then?” the man directs the question at Pidge, preparing to stand.

“ _He’s_ good, Shiro, but I don’t know who that one is.” Suddenly all eyes are solely pointed at Keith, tension in the room sizzling.

“I can vouch for him,” Lance butts in, “His name is Keith; he’s lost and I’m just trying to bring him home.” He refrains from mention the bit about being a star, not fully trusting the crew before them.

Keith remains silent as well, only nodding to Lance’s statement. Shiro turns to the rest of his group. “Anyone have any objections?” A chorus of “no”s and “nope”s ring through the brig, and for once, Lance feels at ease.

The bindings on their wrists fall away to become a useless heap on the floor. Lance stands, cracking his back and lifting his arms as he stretches out. Keith stands beside him, close enough for their shoulders to brush when he breathes. The oldest one of the crew walks forward.  

“My name’s Coran,” he says, holding out his hand that the both take. “We should have some clothes that’ll fit you.”

This causes Lance to glance down, forwing at his battered and burnt coat and muddy pants. His skin is drenched in all sorts of grime, and suddenly he’s looking forward to a very long bath. Keith is still wearing that bathrobe, which now looks incredibly silly on him as he ducks his head, embarrassed.

Lance directs his gaze back to Coran. “That’d be great.”

The clothes don’t fit exactly; having to wear one of Shiro’s old white shirts, it’s a bit baggy on the shoulders, but the sleeves perfectly fall to his wrists. The beige pants fit with a belt, and somehow Coran and him share the same foot size, so the boots are no problem. He brushes back his hair, enjoying the feeling of no grease, as he stares at himself in the mirror, a smile flickering at his lips. He looks like a real pirate now.

Catching movement in the mirror, he spots Keith behind him. Lance turns, preparing some snarky remark, but the words die on his lips.

Keith’s hair has been drawn back into a small ponytail, leaving his thick bangs and the shorter locks to frame his face and hang in his eyes. His body has been adorned in complete darkness--a black shirt, black pants, and black boots--yet somehow it works perfectly with his pale skin, and those violet eyes lend all the color his appearance needs.

Lance chuckles a bit at the irony--stars are supposed to be bright after all. “Not bad.”

“Thanks?” There’s a crease in his forehead as Keith tries to decipher his words.

“I mean, y-you look good,” Lance attempts the compliment again.

“So do you.”

Walking closer to brush a few stray locks behind Keith’s ear, Lance releases a pained yelp accompanied by a few curses as his injured hand accidentally brushes across the wall. His hand had gone numb and it had completely slipped his mind while dressing, but now that feeling has returned tenfold.

Alerted by the noise, Shiro walks over, discovering the problem immediately. “Let Allura tend to your hand.”

The woman with the white hair guides him over to the desk and plopping him down in one of the large chairs. Keith stands behind him, his arms resting on the top of the chair. “What the hell did you do to yourself?” she asks as she delicately turns over his hand, barely touching the destroyed skin in fear of causing him even more pain.

“I may have stuck my hand into a fire,” Lance replies innocently.

“To save us,” Keith adds on. “We were cornered and it was the only way out.”

A tingling feeling suddenly encircles his hand, a light blue glow emanating from his skin as he watches Allura frown in concentration, her fingers trailing over every patch of burnt skin. Healing magic. “You two must get into some crazy adventures,” she says eventually.

“Well, this is our first.” Lance smiles like they still have many more to come. The pain in his hand slowly begins to fade as the skin knits together and the redness fades to a light pink.

Catching his gaze, Allura says, “It’ll scar a little bit; my magic’s not perfect.”

“Don’t apologize, this is amazing.”

Keith has a similar reaction as he leans further over Lance’s shoulder, his hair tickling his neck as he breathes. “Wow, I didn’t know humans could be so powerful. Does it work on all type of wounds, even life threatening ones?” Curiosity roams all over Keith’s face, and Lance bites back a smile--he finds it cute, sue him.  

Allura’s expression twists in confusion at Keith’s first statement but eventually she answers him. “Minor injuries like cuts, bruises, and light burns are the easiest. But deadly stab and bullet wounds, I can ease the pain but that’s about it.”

She releases Lance’s hand, the tingling disappearing as he brings it up in front of his face, inspecting it from all sides. A bit of his skin is puckered, on the places where the burn had been the worst and where it will now be forever sacred. His fingers graze over the new surface.

“Thanks, Allura,” he says at last.

Hunk walks into the room, a crate of fresh produce in his arms as he sets it on a table besides Shiro. Whipping of engine grease off his brow from earlier this morning, he addresses the whole room, “I heard the craziest thing at the port today. Have you heard the rumor of the fallen star? Every merchant’s talking about it.”

“No, I haven’t,” Shiro says, prying open the crate with a satisfied smile. “Do you think it’s true?” he asks before biting into an apple, his eyes only flickering to Keith for a second.

It’s enough of a change for Lance to take notice, but no one else seems to. “Fallen stars?” he pipes in, “Sounds like a children’s story to me. I mean, who’d even want to call down a star; they’re annoying--” Keith wacks him on the shoulder “--Uh, I _bet_ they’d be annoying.”

Shiro arches an eyebrow, eyes shining with unshared knowledge. “I bet they’d say the same thing about us. Don’t you agree, Keith?”

If startled by the question, Keith doesn’t show it as he answers bluntly. “Absolutely.”

Suddenly, Shiro claps his hands, gaining everyone’s attention for an announcement. “Let’s get you folks home.”

* * *

“Try it,” Lance says, holding out his fork, a thin piece of meat on the end.

They all sit at a long dining room table, plates of gorgeous food set before them as steam curls off of the meat and the side elements of the dish. Dipping sauce has been placed to the side, and everyone has immediately dug in, complementing Hunk for another beautiful meal, but Keith continues to stare at the food, unsure. It’s not that stars can’t eat, it’s just not a necessity and thus Keith has never had Earthen food before--not that he’s ever been to Earth before this. The smell tickles at his senses though, easily enticing him.   

Keith wrinkles his nose, lips frowning. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve never had Earth food, try it.” The fork is held closer to his lips, and Lance’s eyes are so wide with excitement that Keith feels like he can’t disappoint.

“Alright,” he says, his lips sliding over the fork before pulling back. Chewing before swallowing, he sighs, the food melting in his mouth into a satifyinly warm sensation that spreads throughout his body as he begins to attack his own plate.

Lance smirks. “Good, right?”

“Mmm.” Keith’s mouth is already full again, desire for food becoming more apparent.  

Leaning closer so his breath touches Keith’s skin, Lance whispers as if he’s sharing a secret. “I knew you’d like it.”

Directly across the table from them, Pidge and Hunk share a look, smirking.

Keith doesn’t necessarily understand their reaction, but a faint blush colors his pale cheeks nevertheless.

 

It’s the next morning and they’re up on deck. The cold morning air easily seeps into Keith’s bones as he leans against one of the railings, head arched back to watch the sky above him. If he reached out right now, his fingers would brush through the clouds; if he reached higher, he wonders if he could touch the stars.

“What are you good at?” Shiro interrupts his solitude, attending to the last bit of rigging as the main sail unfurls.

“Excuse me?” Keith’s skin prickles at the question as he remains cautious.

Realizing his mistake, Shiro quickly elaborates, a small apologetic smile on his lips. “I mean, swords, guns, magic… do you have any specialities?”

Everyone else is out one deck now, milling around with their daily routine. He watches Lance tag along with Hunk and Pidge, his voice trailing on the wind currents to be heard for miles; he sounds happy, somehow in his element though neither of them have never stepped foot on this type of aircraft before. Tracking Lance’s movements for a few more seconds with a softening expression, he immediately snaps his gaze back to Shiro.

“Uh, not that I know of,” _or at least not that I can tell you,_ Keith thinks after the words passed his lips.

“You look like you’d be good at weilding a sword or at least a dagger.” Dark gray eyes roam over his face as if studying him for weaknesses.

“Really?” Keith’s eyes widen as he steps away from the railing, more alert now than he had been before. “Will you teach me?”

The one thing about being a star is that you can watch everything go on around--or below--you but you can’t participate. There were many things Keith had become envious of as he saw civilizations rise and fall throughout the centuries. Learning how to wield a blade had been one of them. His fingers flex, tingling with anticipation of a leather hilt underneath his grip.  

Shiro laughs at his enthusiasm. “I’m not a master, but I can teach you the basics.”

Sweat drips from his brow by the time Keith finally knocks the sword out of Shiro’s hand. His muscles scream from the unusual amount of exertion, chest heaving up and down in an attempt to gain back some sense of control. Pushing a mop of hair from his face, he smirks, sword tip pointed at the older man’s throat.

It’s noon and they’ve been practicing for over three hours and Keith’s energy continues to rise, enthuthiasm building in his bones.

“I win.”

“You’re a fast learner,” Shiro simply says as he pushes Keith’s sword away to pick up his own.

Distantly, the sound of clapping penetrates his ears, and Keith glances up to find Lance sitting on a barrel, legs crossed and a goofy smile on his face.

“Nice job,” Lance says, “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you,” Keith replies, bowing before his audience.

His brown hair is windswept from being exposed to the open air for so long. It curls along his temple and over his ears. Eyes sparkling, Lance jumps down to walk closer to Keith, and suddenly a blue landscape invades his vision, a type of blue that doesn’t belong to the ocean or sky but is in fact in a category of its own. Keith blinks only to find that its still there accompanied by a growing smirk. “Any other secrets you’d like to share, Keith?”

“I think it’s your turn,” a voice says behind them.

“What?” Lance questions, turning his head around in confusion.

“Got any special skills you want to show us?” Pidge says, wiggling her fingers.

Keith watches as Lance frowns for a second, contemplating his answer as he suddenly turns bashful. This causes Keith to cock his head in confusion, wondering where this new attitude sprang up from. Surly Lance isn’t the shy type--not when he’s been so brash and loud and constant. Shifting on his feet, he glances up again, inquiring, “You got any guns?”

“A few,” Hunk responds before quickly asking, “You know how to shoot?”

Lance casually shrugs. “Only a little bit.”

“Well don’t kill yourself,” Pidge interrupts as she sits on one of the crates, a map spread out across her legs. “That’d be a mess to clean up.”

“Thanks.”

Pieces of old broken pottery are flung into the air for Lance as he clicks back the safety on a tarnished silver pistol. He tests the weight in his hand, shooting before Keith even has the chance to breathe. The sound of glass breaking follows as shards of pottery rain down over the bow of the ship into the water below. Five more times he shoots, and all five plates are destroyed in quick succession--he never once misses.

Lance walks back to Hunk, handing over the pistol. “That’s a nice one,” he comments, “You should take better care of her.”

“I will,” Hunk says, mouth hanging open slightly.

“He’s good,” Keith says absentmindedly to Shiro. Lance answers Pidge’s massive amount of questions a few feet away as Coran and Allura join in, amazement in all of their voices.

“Best I’ve ever seen,” Shiro mutters, walking over to join everyone.

“I didn’t know he could do that.” Trailing after him, Keith can’t quite take his gaze off of Lance, watching as he awkwardly palms the back of his neck as if unused to this attention. He taps Lance on shoulder, smirking as he spins around with a startled expression. “Only a little, huh? Didn’t think you’d ever be humble.”

Lance grins at this, catching onto the sarcasm. His fingers brush through his hair before he decides on an appropriate response. “Well when you don’t have _certain_ skill sets, you have to find another way to stay alive in this world.”

Shiro nods--everyone in group nods, understanding what Lance means though Keith has no clue. He bites back his confusion, allowing the exchange to bother him for the rest of the day.

 

They share a room, and thus a bed, as there had only been one guest cabin. A substantial amount of space separates them, an expanse of white sheets dividing them. Keith still finds himself turning over to stare at Lance, his brows set into a questioning line as he finally speaks.

“What did you mean by not having a ‘certain skill set’?”

An eyebrow arches upwards, blue eyes darkening. Shifting to find a more comfortable position, Lance ends up about two inches away from Keith’s face as he glances up. By the look on Lance’s face, that had not been the intended goal. “You haven’t figured it out already?” he says eventually, giving up on laying on his side and instead twisting onto his back to stare at the blank ceiling, eyes glued to the boards.

“Uh, no,” Keith deadpans, peering closer at Lance who makes no move to express any emotions. For once, his face is a stoic mask.

Silence crackles at his ears before Lance utters,

“I have no magical powers.”

He sits up, watching Keith’s reaction with a curious, cautious gaze, and Keith meets his glance head on. “That’s surprising,” he says gently, crossing his legs as he leans against the headboard. “You’d have made a good witch.”

“I’m one of the unlucky ones,” Lance mumbles, rubbing a hand over his arm as if trying to dispel the awkward energy that only surrounds him. Keith catches his hands, fingers encircling his wrists as he draws them out between them. This causes Lance’s gaze to flicker back to him, lifting from the sheets.

“You’re not unlucky. No one can shoot like you can. That’s your power. It may not be flashy, but it’s just as beautiful as any spell.” Keith’s thumbs press into Lance’s soft palms, stressing the point of his miniature speech.

His reward is a genuine smile gliding across Lance’s face. “For someone who’s been on Earth for less than four days, you do know how to make a guy feel better.”   

A faint blush begins to color his skin before his own thoughts interrupt him. “Wait a second!” Keith exclaims, the startling movement causing him to pull Lance forward who almost manages to topple them both off the bed. A giddy sort of laughter spills from their lips before he continues. “You have _no_ magical powers?”

“Yeah, I just said that,” Lance says, nose accidentally knocking into Keith’s as he sits back.

Keith frowns, confusion setting in as he tilts his head, hoping that will clear his mind. “Then how’d you summon me?”

“I wished on a star?” Lance phrases it as a question but Keith easily finds the truth in that statement. Such a childish thing to do but yet it had worked.

“Only someone powerful can call a star down from the heavens.” Keith’s hand caresses his face, thumb brushing underneath his eye. “Maybe you ha--”

Lance lightly grabs onto his wrists, stopping his movements but not pulling him away. “I’ve stopped getting my hopes up a long time ago.”

“No magic has made you strong,” Keith says at last, eyes searching his soul, “but there’s something in your blood, Lance.”

A scoff may not leave his lips but it’s there in his eyes. Finally, Lance lowers Keith’s hands. “When you find it, let me know,” he mutters with surprisingly no sarcasm, eyes dropping as his face sinks deeper into the pillow. Quickly knocking himself from his thoughts, Keith joins him, body expressing its joy as his mind easily drags him into a deep sleep.

At one point, as they rest, Lance’s arm wraps around Keith’s waist, tucking him closer to a warm body, and a faint glimmer shines in the darkness.  

 

The next night contains a party, or if seven people count as a party. But there’s music and dancing, and the stars and moon provide every bit of light that they would ever need. Keith’s smiles at this, feeling closer to home more than ever before. If only they could fly a bit higher.

“May I have this dance?” Lance asks, smirking with his hand outstretched. Keith brings his eyes back down from the sky to find Lance’s brown skin flushed with pink tones as he steadily holds his gaze on him.

“If you want.”

Standing up and taking his hand, he follows Lance to the middle, everything practically falling silent to his ears except for the music and their shoes against the deck boards. A hand slides onto his waist, sparks igniting at the point of contact, and their hands remain clasped together as he smiles.

“Don’t step on my toes,” Lance playfully warns.

Purposefully pressing on the top of his foot as they begin to move, Keith cheekily replies with, “I won’t.”

Lance’s chuckle vibrates in the air between them, his grip tightening on his body. In truth with his assurance, Keith never steps on Lance’s feet as he easily picks up the movements after a few seconds of watching him. At times, he takes the lead, managing to spin Lance unexpectedly, who laughs at the joy of it. Everyone has stopped dancing at this point, watching the spectacle they create.

“You’re glowing,” Lance says matter of factly, mouth dipping near his ear to whisper.

Having been lost in the view--the person--in front of him, Keith quickly shakes his head. “What?”

“You’re glowing like a star.”

A pleased smile winds its way onto his features as he looks at him through his fringe. “That just means I’m happy.”

Lance arches an eyebrow at this, toothy grin becoming apparent. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he nods before twirling, long hair whipping at his face as he slides back into Lance’s arms.

“I’m happy too,” Lance responds though he doesn’t have to. The emotion is clearly drawn on his features, that blue hue of his irises swirling with excitement and a strange sense of giddiness.

Leaning closer as he slides his arms around Lance’s neck as they begin to sway, Keith’s voice softens into a hushed lullaby. “I’m glad.”

Their lips are a hair’s breadth away until the change in music interrupts this perfect little world. The party ends with nothing but a violent blush expressing their true feelings.

* * *

On the fourth day of being on the ship, Lance can finally spot a tiny merchant town a few miles away from Arus on the horizon. Smoke rises from the building, and seagulls squawk as they fly around the port, some bobbing on the waves while others dive for fish.  

He sighs as he leans against the railing; their adventure went by so quickly, with barely any difficulties--besides almost being killed by a witch, but that’s in the past. With no candle left, Lance vaguely wonders how he’ll keep his promise to Keith, but he pushes that problem aside. It can be dealt with when he gets back home.

That is if Keith even wants to go home anymore….

“We’ll be landing there,” Shiro says, walking up to Lance, “Sorry we can’t drop you off any closer but we have a job to get to.”

“It’s alright,” he replies, still staring at the land below. The ship is low enough to see black specks traveling along the road, but no individual detail can be picked out. “I can find our way back now.”

They stand in silence for a few moments, the wind whipping at Lance’s hair and clothes, threatening to take him away if he leaned just a bit farther over the railing.

“You have no magic, right?” Shiro inquires out of the blue, gray eyes trained on his face as Lance finally pulls his gaze away from the scenery.

“Huh, how’d you figure that one out?” he says it like he’s cracking a joke.

“I’m not sure if you noticed,” Shiro begins casually, a light expression on his face, “but barely anyone on my crew has magic. The only certified witch we have is Allura, but everyone else has learned to find other talents, and they’ve done remarkably well at that.”

He’s shocked at first, but then begins to realize that it’s not necessarily a surprise. The only unordinary thing that has happened while traveling would be Allura healing his hand. Hunk has his mechanical skills, Pidge loves to tinker, and Coran is a great navigator, with a flair for the dramatics. Shiro though… “Even you?”

“Used to only be able to do spells with my right hand, but as you can see, that’s not possible anymore.” Despite his attempts not to do so, Lance’s gaze travels down to stare at Shiro’s prosthetic, recognizing Pidge’s work almost immediately in the clean white paneling and thick black lines.

This crew has been through a lot; it almost makes Lance wish he found a stable family of his own, instead of relying on a few people who never seem to stick around for long. Even Matt is only a constant once a month, sometimes even less than that.

“When you get him home,” Shiro speaks again, “and if you’re looking for a job, we could use a sharpshooter like you.”

“I’d like that,” he responds earnestly.

Ten minutes later the ship lands at the port, coming to a jerking halt as the engine fades to complete silence. Lance hadn’t realized how constant that humming had been until it was gone. The mechanical silence is odd now, but the everyday noise of a popular merchant town makes up for the loss. About four more ships, roughly the same size as the one he’s on, have docked at this town, equally busy with trade and restocking supplies.

“Have a safe journey,” they all say as Lance and Keith walk down the gangplank, fingers dancing across the rope that acts as a railing.

“Thanks, guys,” Lance salutes with a grin; Keith nods along with him.

“We want to be invited to the wedding,” Pidge jokes, crossing her arms.

“Of course,” he replies all too seriously.

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith laughs, elbowing him in the side.

“Right,” Lance corrects, quickly gazing at him then back to the crew above them, “Keith would rather elope so there probably won’t be a wedding.”

“ _Lance_.”

Everyone chuckles at Keith’s mortification as he buries his hands to hide that vibrant blush; Lance sends him a sly grin as atonement. After some quick, unexpected hugs--Pidge barreling into his body to say he should definitely come back because they need some entertainment--they depart, walking somewhat close together as they find their way through the town. Their shoulders brush with every step.

Keith's hand dangling by his side is a very tempting invitation to take though Lance forces himself not to accept.

It happens when they leave the town, walking along the dirt road in hopes of catching some stranger to give them a lift back. In the daylight, it’s difficult to see, but when Keith angles his head, looking around, a faint, pure glimmer can be seen.   

“You’re glowing again,” Lance informs him. He walks just a little bit closer now, a full smile on his face.

“I know.”

It takes a few moments of silence--a squirrel scampers through the trees chasing its friend, distracting him--before Lance asks, “Is everlasting life lonely?”

He receives a shrug, and Keith bites at his lip before he answers. A breeze whips through the trees, curling around their bodies in a dance, playing with their hair. Right before he speaks, Keith aggravatingly brushes back his bangs. For a split second his eyes are completely visible. “I guess.”

“You don’t have anyone to spend it with,” Lance responds quietly, only now coming to this conclusion.

Keith begins to walk backwards, spreading his arms out wide as if to include the whole world in their conversation. “This part hasn’t been lonely at all.”

 _No_ , Lance muses, _an adventure wouldn’t be lonely._ Terrifying, yes; exciting, yes, but never lonely. Not when you have some to share it with. Thoughts continue plague Lance’s mind so he continues to ask questions, hoping to get to the answer he desperately searches for.  

“Do you ever wish that you had someone, anyone?”

“I didn’t before, not really,” Keith replies, his eyes peering deep into Lance’s soul, never leaving.  “Now I do.”

Lance’s heart beats, the rhythm matching the sound of their combined footsteps as it pumps faster and faster. He tries not to grin, and blush, at that response, though he doubts he succeeds. Keith comes to halt unexpectedly, Lance nearly bumping into him before Keith grabs his arms.

“I like you, Lance,” he starts, eyes now on the ground, “a lot more than I ever thought. I know you like Nyma though so I’ll never bring it up again. I--”

“I don’t,” Lance replies faster than he ever thought possible.

Keith glances upwards, shock written on his face. “What?”

“I don’t care about Nyma anymore,” he stresses, eyes truthful as a hand cups Keith’s face. Lance had stopped thinking of Nyma a long time ago. He never felt more free.

“Really?” Keith seems to have accepted this fact though, if that hidden smile is anything to go by.

Lance nods. “Yeah, screw her. I deserve someone who actually cares about me.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place for that, Lance.” Keith loops his arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Keith’s lips are soft and warm, a thrill of pure ecstasy filling his veins as he melts, legs wobbling as he grabs onto Keith for support. He laughs, the sound pooling into Keith’s mouth, who smiles at the action. Black locks cause his fingers to disappear as he tangles them into that mess of hair. He tries not to get lost in the kiss, but he also hopes that he is never found.  

“I’m glad I wished for you,” Lance whispers, breaking away, though not very far.

“Me too.”

* * *

After walking longer than expected, Keith’s feet begin to ache, something he decides to be vocal about much to Lance’s amusement. He holds out his hand for Keith to take in place of words, offering to share his remaining energy. Their fingers intertwine in an unbreakable grip.

Well it’s unbreakable until Keith is unexpectedly shoved the ground as Lance lands on top of him, a hand braced beside his head so he doesn’t accidentally flatten Keith with his weight. He still expels a startled yelp at which Lance hastily covers his mouth for. Lance’s eyes compel him to remain silent, his breathing settling as he feels the grass against his back and the coolness of the dirt cushioning his hands. Then he hears the rattling of a carriage wheels and the clopping of four hooves.

Peeking over his shoulder, Lance makes a happy sound, standing up just as quickly as he had pushed Keith down. “Oh I think I know her,” he mutters. He holds out a hand for Keith. “Come on, we’ve found our ride.”

He races alongside Lance as they try to catch up to the woman. When Lance’s shouts finally reach her ears, veiny hands tug on the reins, the horse skidding to a stop, and she hops off the seat to meet them in the road.

A chain of potion bottles swing from her thick neck. Bald spots pepper her pale head though long, chunky strands of greasy hair hang from her skull. She’s a witch--with stormy gray eyes that crackle with lightning--and she doesn’t look to particularly pleased to have been stopped by them. Subconsciously, Keith’s hand rests on the hilt of his dagger, a parting gift from Shiro.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but we could really use your help getting to Arus,” Lance explains gently, a friendly smile gracing his lips.

“Sorry, I don’t deal with your kind.” The disgust on her old weathered face is apparent as she gives a quick once over to Lance.

His nostrils flare, but Keith quickly places a hand on his arm, trying to draw him back from a confrontation, nails gripping the material of his coat. “Lance, it’s not worth it--”

“Look here, you old hag, we’ve been walking for an hour and all we’d like is a ride back to Arus, which I know is where you’re going since you set up on the corner lot every market day. Is a ride really too much to ask for?” Lance seethes, index finger pointed at the woman.

The witch regards him for a moments, lips twisting into a sneer. “Yes.” With a flick of her wrist, she sends out a bolt of blue lighting, surrounding Lance until he shrinks in size and shape.

In his place now sits a brown cottontail rabbit, who’s nose races frantically, ears perked in fear.

“Huh, that spell was supposed to kill him, I must be losing my touch,” the old witch comments, turning her gaze back to Keith. “You look very pale, dear. I have a potion that could help you with that.”

“You were going to kill him?” Keith questions as his eyes narrow. He walks slowly over to the witch, a growl at the back of his throat.

The witch, now noticing her predicament as Keith’s glare pierces every living thing around them, weakly chuckles, tugging at the collar of her dress and walking backwards as Keith continues to stalk forward. “He was a very rude man.”

“He was not rude, _ma’am_ , you were, and I love him and you tried to _kill_ him.” The witch hits the back of her cart as he leans directly in front of her, eyes turning into molten white fire. “Do you know what happens when a star gets angry?”

Trembling, she shakes her head, matted gray hair swinging in clumps around her face. “I-I’m s-sorry; I didn’t know.”

His body burns as he continues to look at her, steam rising off his skin. Keith’s about to the do the unthinkable. An untapped source of fury overflows his senses as he growls in anger, but something bites at his ankles, nipping his skin just hard enough to make him glance down.

Rabbit Lance glares at him--if a rabbit can glare that is--angrily thumping his hind legs in protest. Keith quickly swallows his guilt and his posture softens as he stares at Lance. Reaching down, he picks up Lance, cradling him to his chest, before turning back to the witch. “If you ever harm another soul,” he utters, voice deathly even, “Know that the stars will never look kindly down on you ever again.”  

Keith leaves the witch with fear etched into her brain as he runs away. It takes a few minutes for him to finally try to make light of the situation as he holds Lance closer. “You’re so frickin’ adorable, you know that right? Your button nose and fluffy body. I could snuggle with you all day.”

Lance attempts to bite his fingers in protest, black eyes glaring at him again.

“It’s true, you can’t deny it. And don’t worry, I’ll be making sure to hold this over your head forever...” Keith pauses, understanding what he just said. “Or at least until I go home.”

Lance stops squirming after that, face resting on Keith’s collarbone. Those brown ears flatten against his head which creates a surprisingly mournful look that has guilt eating away at Keith’s mind as he begins to stroke the rabbit’s short fur. “I’ll find someone to change you back.”

Throughout the rest of the walk, Lance will often point--or gently nip at his skin to indicate which path to take and which dark trail to avoid. The sun is a half an hour at most away from setting, a few fireflies already coming out in the hot summer’s air as the sky colors with pink and oranges. Arus is alive, residents bustling around with baskets of fruits and other items to trade or bring home, even this close to the edge of the town.

Keith gaps in awe. Cinnamon is laced in the air, tickling his senses with the new scent, and his stomach grumbles at the thought of trying a new food concoction, but he ignores it for the time being. Conversations flow all around him, everyone’s voice a different pitch and smoothness. It’s all so unique and amazing that Keith can’t quite look away from the life before him.    

Lance nips his finger though, almost breaking skin, and Keith glares. “Alright, alright, I’ll find someone to help you.”

At this point, Lance is useless, not being able to direct Keith to anyone particular shop as they become lost in the crowd and those black eyes not able to see past bodies of people. It doesn’t take long to find the completely magical quarter of the town. Surprisingly, it’s quieter than the market place, a few stalls already packing up in the hopes of supper being ready at home. Many shops are closed down as well, though a light hangs in the window of one, so Keith takes his chances.  

A brass bell dings as he opens the door to find a man around his age perched on the counter. A spell book floats in front of him before it drops down as he looks up at Keith. The first thing he notices is the scar maring his left cheek, but his eyes quickly flicker up to find familiar amber eyes staring at him.   

“Excuse me, sir,” Keith begins, walking over, “but do you work in counter spells?”

“Sometimes, what seems to be the problem?” The man jumps down, brushing off the counter and patting the spot to indicate where Keith should place his issue.

Keith helpfully brandishes the rabbit, gently setting Lance down--who seems a little more jittery than normal, nose twitching and small body tensing as if he is going to hop away any second. Placing a comforting hand on his back, Keith answers with, “My friend’s been turned into a rabbit.”

“Well that’s unfortunate,” the man comments, stroking his chin before he turns to the selves of potions behind him. He pulls out a small, rounded bottle made of tinted amber glass and containing a dark liquid. “I’m Matt, by the way,” he informs, turning back around to stare at the rabbit, “and hopefully this will help.”

Keith cocks an eyebrow at the name, but where he heard it before doesn’t come to the front of his mind, so he lets it be, nodding along.  

Muttering something in Latin, Matt squirts a few drops of an orange potion onto Lance’s fur, passing his hand over the length of Lance’s body as his words fade in the air. The air crackles with energy, the smell of ozone prickling his nose and causing the hair on his arms to stand, and suddenly a fully grown adult male with cropped brown hair and wide blue eyes kneels on the counter on all fours.    

“Lance?” Matt exclaims as the former rabbit scrambles off the counter, brushing his clothes and carding a hand through his hair as his cheeks color in embarrasment. Keith just watches the scene unfold with a slight bit of amusement.

This must be Pidge’s brother; now he recalls the name.

“Well this is embarrassing,” Lance mutters, looking at the man on the other side of the counter.

“A rabbit, Lance, really? I’ve told you before not to piss off a witch,” Matt begins to scold, wagging a finger, “You’re lucky your friend brought you to me.”

“Oh!” Lance says, glancing over at Keith as if only now just realizing that he is standing there. “Matt, this is Keith. He’s the star I wished for.”

Matt’s face drops before he has a chance to utter out any formal greeting. “Wha--”

“Anyways, we gotta get going.” Lance grabs onto Keith’s hand, tugging him closer to the exit, only turning back just in time to say, “Your sister says hi.”

“Lance!” Matt hollers before the door begins to open, “You come back here and tell me what you’ve been doing!”

The bell dings as an answer before Lance can fill the immediate silence with words. “Sorry, see you later!”

They run out of his shop, laughing as they go. The bright lights of the sunset consume them.

* * *

“So which one’s yours?” Keith asks as they stand in front of a row of identical two story buildings partially connected to one another. The dark trim is crooked and the plaster cracks near the foundation--the windows might be tinted with dirt but Lance pretends to ignore that detail, reminding himself to clean later. He’s proud of his home though; it was hard to save up enough to get it.

Keith smiles as Lance points to the last one on the right. “Home sweet home,” he says, guiding Keith forward, allowing him to go through the entrance first. The door itself wobbles on its hinges--another thing that has now been added to his to do list.  

The first floor contains a tiny kitchenette, a table pushed under the window with a single chair, and a loveseat for relaxing if he ever finds time to do so. A ladder leads to the loft where a mattress and a bowl for washing reside. It’s not much, but the way Keith’s eyes roam over every surface, already making himself part of everything here, it’s enough.   

“We gotta discuss what you said back there… with the witch,” Lance begins, sitting on the edge of the table instead of the couch with the patches to hold in the stuffing.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Keith dips his head, one foot sliding across the floor as he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “I’ve always had a bit of a temper.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Lance says, lifting up Keith’s chin to look at him in those violet eyes. His time as a rabbit had been… enlightening, for lack of a better word. “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

“I did.”

“Hmm,” Lance hums in contentment, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Lips crash into each other as Keith drags him off the table, hands tightly gripping onto his hair. The fading light pulses around them, a yellow shimmer painting everything gold. Their bodies become one that night, hands roaming over skin to explore new horizons. Lance’s smile has never been more beautiful and Keith has never glowed so brightly.

* * *

Keith wakes to footsteps.

The sound doesn’t startle him at first, happy with the soft sheets and the warmth besides him. That is until he realize that Lance still sleeps beside him, snoring slightly, and thus no one should be downstairs. His eyes widen at the realization, heart hammering in his chest. Maybe it’s his imagination though, maybe it’s simply just a mouse looking for crumbs. A creak echoes from a loose board, and Keith bolts up, attempting not to disturb Lance all the while. Throwing on pants, he hobbles downstairs, the cold chill from the floorboards seeping into his feet.

Cicadas deep in the forest surrounding the town sing as Keith creeps around the first floor, searching for anything out of place or any sign of a forced entry. Despite the morning summer air, he shivers, running his hands up and down his bare arms, wishing he had the foresight to find a shirt.

The thought doesn’t last long as static buzzes in the air and something pierces him from behind, ripping into his skin. A hand darts out before Keith has the chance to cry out in pain and all he catches is a glimpse of white hair and yellow eyes.

He vanishes without a word, unable to scream.

* * *

The stars guide his way. Or, something tells Lance to wake up so he does.

The bed is cold, it’s one of the first things he notices. That, and the fact that Keith is nowhere to be seen. The blankets have been thrown back in some semblance of haste though they still cover him. Blinking away his blurry vision, Lance notices a pair of pants missing yet everything else still seems to be in place. He waits a minute or two, listening to the quiet in hopes he hears rustling downstairs or maybe Keith had been forward thinking and went out to get them some breakfast. Lance quickly shakes that ridiculous thought from his mind; not only would Keith not have money, he doesn’t know the first thing about Earth food.

“Keith,” he calls out quietly, but no one answers.

By the time he finds the downstairs bare of all life, Lance becomes worried. When he finds a scorch mark on the wall, his heart pounds as he whips around the room, hoping the answers will magically appear.

But that’s silly because Lance doesn’t have magic and obviously the witch Haggar took Keith because no one else would care enough to kidnap a star.

He straps on his pistols he had stupidly forgotten to take the first time he left his house more than a week prior. The familiar weight by his hips is a comfort as he taps on the tops with anxiety.

The stars really do guide him this time, subtlety leading him to where he needs to go as he allows his feet to march on, trusting the instincts rumbling in his gut. It’s the day time and stars can’t speak now, but he believes he can hear them anyways. Maybe that’s just Keith’s voice though, trusting him to arrive in time, trusting Lance to save him when he himself is unable to.

Lance picks up the pace; a trail of dust is all that’s left in his wake.

 

When Lance finds a mansion, blackened with age and mistreatment, he knows he found the place. The bushes around the foundation have withered, cutting into his clothes as he brushes passed the dead branches to peak into the window. Chandeliers light the inside, trailing up a wide staircase, and as he cups a hand over his eyes, Lance spots an alter--an execution table--showcased at the top. An unconscious Keith lays strapped to the marble as an old woman with white hair sharpens a knife above his bare chest.  

Bursting through the doors, he immediately fires, finger pressing hard on the trigger as he aims to shatter the blade with one bullet. The shards litter the ground by Haggar’s feet before she even registers the intruder.

Somehow the sound awakens Keith who stares directly at Lance as he blinks away his sleepy state of mind. His lips part, but Haggar launches herself over the banner, landing directly in front of Lance.

“Lance, Lance!” Keith screams, wiggling in his bindings, “Watch out!”

The warning comes too late, the blast of dark energy punching him directly in the chest. His feet slide across the floor but he doesn’t fall. Despite everything, the arms that he thrusted upward in a weak attempt to protect his body expel the magic. A shimmering golden glow radiating from his skin, his hair--his whole body, including his eyes which dust his cheeks in a bright light.

“You can’t be--” Haggar stops, before breathing, “Protection magic, _impossible_.”

It takes a minute for Lance to understand her words, lowering his arms down in complete shock as he turns them over like he’s never seen them before.

Suddenly everything begins to make sense--the time when he was five and fell off a roof and should have died but didn’t. Or when he was ten and starving in the streets but was always strong enough to make it a few more days until he found some food. Or when he was sixteen and got shot in the gut and made a full recovery. Or a day ago when he survived a killing curse.  

_Protection Magic--its wielder has the inability to cast spells, but they are able to protect themself and/or anyone they wish who’s with them from harm, even unintentionally. It’s one of the most sought after skills and one of the most powerful._

It’s survival magic and it’s beyond rare.

This reveal doesn’t stop Haggar though as she presses forward, the magic pulsing from her fingertips, walking ever closer. Though the blackness of her power clouds Lance’s vision, he trusts himself, shooting again but only managing to clip the witch in the shoulder, not even indulging Lance with a wince.  

“What the hell does it take to kill this witch?” he mutters, but he finds that it’s hard to breath.

Smoke fills the front hall as Keith jumps down, having burned through the ropes. Those violet eyes are once again a molten liquid; it may terrify Lance, a shiver racing down his spine, but he’s also grateful for this power. Haggar’s attention quickly becomes divided though her bombardment doesn’t cease.

Everything becomes unimaginably scorching hot, sweat beading up on Lance’s forehead.

Flames begin to dance on Keith's skin, licking at his clothes.   

“You’re going to get hurt,” Lance cries. Everyone knows what happens when a star burns too bright; it’s usually for the last time.

“Don’t worry,” Keith says softly, “You’ll protect me.” He steps in front of the stream of magic with a soft cry of pain, clutching Lance to his body as he whispers in his ear, “Close your eyes.”

His eyelids flutter closed on command, basking in the sudden relief from Haggar’s magic and the comforting warmth spreading from the points of contact where Keith’s hands touch his body. As the air becomes thick, heavy, and hard to breath, Lance buries his face into the crook of Keith’s neck. The flames don’t touch his skin anymore, but the light is blinding, even with his eyes shut. He wraps his arms tighter around Keith’s body.

Haggar dissolves into ash.

All that’s left is the light from the candles above. Keith’s eyes have returned to normal, his skin as cool as before. Slowly, Lance lifts his head, kissing Keith squarely in the mouth much to the other’s surprise.

“Let’s go home,” Lance says into his skin, peppering his cheeks with tiny kisses of relief.

Keith’s fingers reach up to brush back his sweaty hair before he hesitantly asks, “Which one?”

“You decide.” There’s worry in Lance’s voice as he lips lift from Keith’s skin to look at him in the eyes.

_Don’t leave._

“What if I said,” Keith quickly begins, a tiny grin starting to make itself known on his features, “that I’d like to go on more adventures… with you?”

“I’d love that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Afterwards, Keith and Lance become part of Shiro’s crew.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


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